Western Front
by Stretch1
Summary: As Christmas dawns during WWI, Marco Aleron is faced with the personal struggles of war and gains some perspective with a little help from his friends.


For those of you who read Fall From Grace, I'm working on an update! I know it's been forever and a day, but, seriously, each chapter takes...well...forever. Hope you like this. It got a good response over Christmas, and it's still somewhat the season.

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Looking out the window on the highest floor of the western hospital wing, a young man glanced at his pocket watch, a gift from the previous year, and listened as another clock in the distance chimed for midnight. Christmas. While he supposed he could have spent this night the same as everyone else, the nurses having gone to their own temporary homes, many of the other doctors having left hours before them, he figured someone had to keep them company. Besides, why be lonely on the holidays, even if you were surrounded by the broken and the wounded? Better than being on your own and wallowing in self pity.

"Hey, Doc," called a familiar voice, causing the young man to crack a smile and turn away from the glass he had been peering past. "Merry Christmas…Get me anything?"

"Yeah, I got you something…You're not getting it until you can get up and get it, though," he replied smartly, sauntering over to the wounded soldier. His was face healing and his right arm severed, but he was smiling nonetheless, a trait that Marco always liked about the guy. Of course, a trait that Jack, or "Black Jack" as some, including Marco, called him, liked about the doctor was he had contributed a great deal to the saving of his life. Needless to say, you kind of have respect for a person after that.

"Wouldn't be a new arm, would it?" he asked jokingly, typically using humor about the situation in order to soften the blow that he had lost a limb.

"No, but I did get you a third leg. Merry Christmas," Marco replied with a smirk, shaking his head as Jack made some obscene comment about already having a third leg.

"You know, it sounds strange, Doc, but I'm kinda glad I got hit where I did and when I did. I mean…I get to go home. Lot of other bums can't say that, can they? Week now, they're saying, and though I missed Christmas…it wouldn't be by much, and there's always New Year's, you know?"

That didn't sound strange, at least to Marco, and probably not to many of the men in the surrounding area. They were all going home, some sooner than later, some perhaps in a box once their fever got too high to manage, but they were all, one way or another, going home.

"How long since you've seen home, Doc?" Jack asked, curious about the young man that stood before him. Hell, he couldn't have been more than twenty-three, twenty-four tops.

"Year and a half…right after graduation. I had a month to get my things together, say my peace, and move out…" Marco replied a bit distantly. He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but he knew down to the day hour long he had been there, and could probably figure out the hour if he wanted.

"Graduation? You came out here when you were-"

"Twenty-two…and a half. I turn twenty-four the end of next month, and I'm hoping the government gives me an early birthday present and lets me go home with you guys," he replied, the first bit of real, honest truth he had spoken about himself to any of the soldiers lying before him. After all, what right had he to complain? He wasn't in the trenches, and he was probably there a lot less than some of them were. So, since arriving, he had put a happy face on it, and pushed away thoughts of desperately wanting to return home. He came here for a purpose, and he was going to see that through the best he could.

"Got a girl to go home to?" another man, who had been listening a few beds over, asked.

"No. Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. But, she's twelve…Don't have much in ways of immediate family, but as far as extended family is concerned, there're a lot of them I'd do just about anything to see right now. See, I lived for a while with my brother's friend and his wife, and I was raised around their daughter, Amy, and since she was old enough to walk she's kind of been a partner in crime. Of course, I get the blame for anything done, but, hey, I know she's a girl and she's cute and all, so I let that slide," Marco finished with a laugh, a few of the others chuckling as well.

"Hey, Doc…" Jack said after a while, motioning for the man to come closer. Jack wasn't the type to be serious, but, when he was, he tended to only allow select people witness it. So, knowing this detail about the man and seeing the look on his face, Marco furrowed his eyebrows and stood beside him. "I was only kidding about the gift…I don't need anything from you. You already got me something."

"I know, I told you what it was," Marco said lightly, though got a bit concerned when Jack remained serious.

"No, I mean you really got me something. Here…see this?" he started, pulling out a picture from his shirt pocket and handing it to the younger man. "That little beauty is my little girl, Hannah Marie. You know, ever since leaving her, I was thinking that I'm going to get those damned Germans and I'm going to win this war for the States and I was going to be some great damned hero…then that mine got me, and I felt like some God damned hero lying there with nothing to show for myself but a blown off arm and a humbled attitude. Then you, Sir…you come along and you're only a kid yourself, and you get the damn bleeding to stop and teach me how to get along with just one arm and build my pride back up. You gave me my life back, but you also gave her her Daddy back, and…I want you to have this picture. I'm going home to see her, and if I can't let you go home to see your family, I want you to at least know what you did for mine."

Smiling down at Jack, thoroughly touched by his words and grateful for the photo, soon several nearby men called him over and gave him photos of their own, explain who each person was and how they were grateful to him for being able to see them again. They all expressed, in some way or another, how he in particular had seen them as more than just a nameless face, and now they wanted him to know who else he had helped in taking his job so seriously. Picture upon picture was given to him, each with its own little story and its own little thank you.

Once the men had all fallen asleep, some in more a trouble doze than anything, Marco headed to his temporary housing and, one by one, pinned the pictures given to him on the walls. Taking a seat at his desk, he turned on the small lamp and began writing to his 'partner in crime', feeling the urge to speak to her but not knowing what to say. Finally, he simply wrote,

_Amy,_

_You know how I told you I was doing this for a reason, and if I ever really found out the reason I'd let you know? Well, I realized what it was tonight, but it's a little hard to put into words. Just know that I'm doing the right thing, and I'll be home as soon as I can. Merry Christmas._

_All my love,_

_Your Marco_


End file.
